In the wake of World War II, surviving Poles and Jews were used to the idea that life in Warsaw was not perfect. However, the communist government’s antisemitic campaign of 1968 that accused Jews of being too supportive of Israel hit too close to home for Jews. About 80 percent of Jews fled their homes and Jan was among them. He was only sixteen. Born seven years after the war, he was taking no chances.
Today, Jan lives in Warsaw, which he believes “is still a holy Jewish city” despite the fact that Jews have been reduced to a mere thousand or so when they once were a third of its population. He is a member of what his rabbi calls a “reformadox” synagogue in the heart of Warsaw. He seems to be one of the most loved and respected members of the community and it’s pretty clear why – he’s the oldest and he’s outgoing and charming too. When we all crowded around him immediately for question and answer despite the fact that there were several other Polish Jews in the room, someone said, “it’s because he’s the wisest.” Jan first laughed humbly and then smirked and whispered in my ear, “They’re right, you know.”
Jan was born into a Jewish family, but his parents were certainly different kinds of Warsaw Jews. His mother was Hasidic while his father was liberal and, according to Jan, a “Polish patriot.” They met in music conservatory and subsequently became professors When the Germans invaded in 1939, Jan’s father, who was also a firefighter, stole a fire truck, packed his family into it, and drove his family to Romania where they waited for the war to end. When it did, they returned to Poland only to be greeted by a communist government that had little interest in Jews.
Jan’s father clearly dictated the culture of the house; Jan was a relatively secular Jew, and did not identify strongly with his faith. When he fled Poland, however, Jan first stayed with a cousin in Belgium and then looked for work in Canada where he met his first wife, a practicing Jew. He was embraced by her family and quickly learned more about his own traditions under their wing.
Jan’s Jewish-Polish identity, however, still lived within him. When he visited Poland with his wife who was embarking on “The March of the Living” – a march from Auschwitz to Birkenau to prove that Jews live on – he was unnerved that the organization would not let her leave her hotel to socialize with Poles and/or Polish Jews. It seemed to him that popular Jewish memory sought to conflate Poland with death and Israel with life while he knew Poland was much more complex than that. He reflected, “We resent that…we want them to see that there is Jewish life in Poland.”
In 1999, after a divorce, Jan moved back to Poland “for love.” He had met another Jewish womyn who he had subsequently married. He once again settled in Warsaw and this time he felt his Jewish identity strongly. He calls Polish Jewish identity “a big mess,” but he also loves that messiness and accepts it for what it is. He loves Israel. He hates Obama. He believes that Poland is one of the safest places for Jews but fears that Russia could invade, that war could be upon Poland at any moment, that history could repeat itself.
I spent a half hour or so speaking with Jan after the formal question and answer period was over. When it became clear I was not Jewish, he said asked me what I was. I said that I was Iranian, Chinese, and American, but it’s complicated. The truth is that allowing identities to live within me has been a complex process with which I am still engaging. Giving priority to one identity has always elicited feelings of inauthenticity from knowing that I was silencing the others. I envy Jews in synagogues, because there are no physical spaces, rituals, and histories that I feel comfortable claiming as my own. Holding my identities has meant searching for answers in people, places, and books, reconstructing a narrative of my past out of the fragments of my present, knowing that complexity and intensity will always be uncomfortable and yet the places that I feel most comfortable. And when Jan asked me if it was difficult for me to not feel I was from a place, I was touched that he was able to understand so quickly and told him that that was why I enjoyed talking to Polish Jews. He told me that the combination was a good one and gave me a warm smile.
We moved on quickly: I suggested that he read a book about Eugene Braunwald and he said he would try but also – I think genuinely – asked me if I could translate it into Polish. I guffawed. We spent the rest of our conversation laughing together and exchanging jokes about our cultures. When we parted, he shook my hand and told me to enjoy the rest of my time in Poland. I know I will.
-Ariana Lee '15
No comments:
Post a Comment